


Devils' Court

by DixieDale



Category: The Persuaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 22:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Devils' Court - It was only one of many properties held by the Sinclairs, but certainly one of the most notorious for odd occurrences.  Lord Brett Sinclair cringed at the thought of Danny Wilde at Devils' Court; ANYTHING could happen!  But what did happen?  Not even in his wildest imagination had anything like THIS crossed Lord Sinclair's mind!





	Devils' Court

**Author's Note:**

> Follows 'There's No Fool Like An April Fool', and builds on events and references in that and previous stories.

Devils' Court - Brett Sinclair had avoided the place on that inspection trip that coincided with April Fools' Day, but a trip WAS necessary, was in fact, well overdue. Oh, the reports showed no sign of trouble, but it was part of his responsibility according to the legal agreements - all properties must be personally inspected at least every so many years, and they were edging right up against his deadline. Even the chatelaine of the place, never one to encourage visits, had sent him a letter reminding him of that. 

Yes, he was going to have to bite the bullet and visit a place he hadn't been in a goodly number of years. He doubted he'd manage to sneak away and go to Devils' Court alone; he didn't really want to, in fact. 

Well, he rarely went anywhere alone anymore. More often than not, there he'd be, trying to be his own dignified self, with that annoying individual at his side, arm tucked into his at the most inappropriate times, making outrageous comments, ignoring all civilized boundaries. 

Who? Well, who else? His partner in crime, his room mate, his . . . Well, never mind what else. It really didn't need to be said out loud, now did it??

Still, combining his partner, Danny Wilde, and that particular property was a severely cringeworthy thought. If Danny could get into deep trouble at a peaceful, even serene place like Garganey View, lord only knows what could happen at a place like Devils' Court! Well, all he could do was try to take as many precautions as possible, give the irrepressible man every possible warning that, this time, he really DID need to be on his very best behavior.

While Lord Brett Sinclair thought he had considered, and made allowances and taken precautions for every eventuality, it turned out he hadn't come anywhere close to the reality of what Devils' Court had in store for the two of them. 

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, a little background is in order. Well, perhaps more than a little. It's always best to be prepared when entering Devils' Court.

Devils' Court had been held by the Sinclairs for several hundred years, and while there had been a few in the family who had looked on it quite favorably, made it their home, most of the Sinclairs had avoided it as much as possible. There was just something about the place. 

And then, there was the Housekeeper. No one ever specified WHICH Housekeeper, they just always said THE Housekeeper. And if you questioned them, they clammed up, totally, though with a sickly sort of look on their faces, like they might have said too much as it was.

But it was a fact. It was as if there really WAS only one 'Housekeeper', had always been that way. All the housekeepers looked like her, the one in the portrait in the library at Devils' Court. Not just a family resemblance like you might expect in women from the same ancestral family, but, other than the style of clothing that changed with the years, EXACTLY like the one in the portrait. No, don't bother asking why there was a life-sized portrait of the housekeeper, of all people, in the library of a Sinclair holding. That was another thing you just didn't mention.

As uneasy as she made them, you would have thought she, any of them, would have been dismissed and chased off long ago. You would have been wrong. Somehow, that notion, even if briefly entertained, seemed to fly from their minds within moments, never to return. In most cases, those who had even vaguely entertained the idea, they left, and THEY never returned either. Always found some reason not to visit, no, not ever. Just something about that place, you know??!

***  
The day was bright and starting to warm up a little. They were both enjoying the drive up from London, and for the first time, Danny Wilde had actually gotten Lord Brett Sinclair to discuss their destination - Devils' Court - with something more than a grimace and a brisk "not now, Daniel!".

Oh, he'd tried many times since discovering the place in the stack of bound records and maps that detailed each of the many properties held by Lord Sinclair in trust for his family, but Brett had always shrugged aside the question, changed the subject adroitly to something else. 

Now he was finally getting some background, and he hung onto Brett's every word.

"Devils' Court has been in Sinclair hands for, oh, perhaps six hundred years, Daniel. In the beginning, when the property was given to the family by the Crown, it was called 'Waelands'. Then, people started calling it 'Devils' Court', and somewhere along the line the Sinclairs petitioned to have the name officially changed."

Danny Wilde looked intrigued. "Did that happen often, changing the name of a place? And why 'Devils' Court'?"

Bret Sinclair shrugged. "I imagine it happened quite often, actually, the new holders wanting to put their stamp on a property, thinking it would show everyone that it was THEIRS now. I think they all thought it would be theirs til the end of time, never mind how many times it had changed hands in the past. Well, human nature, I suppose. In this case, of course, it was more true than not, at least so far; the property has never left Sinclair hands since. Well, we DO tend to hold tight to our possessions, especially land and houses, even the ones less often used.

"And as for the name, 'Devils' Court'? There were stories, a great deal of foolishness spoken about this place. There always have been."

He knew sooner or later he would have to explain, but he hadn't been looking forward to it. Still, he could hardly have his exuberant friend walking into the blasted place unawares. And since an inspection trip WAS necessary, him not quite having the nerve to have included it on the previous March-into-April inspection trip, surely it was better to get it done during the bright, or at least semi-bright summer days than wait for autumn. 

{"Or, heaven help us, Halloween! I shudder to think of what might transpire by combining Devils' Court and Danny Wilde and Halloween!"}

Devils' Court was problematic, if that was the right word. (There were probably a host of others, but that was the most neutral one he could think of at the moment). Brett Sinclair was explaining that to his companion, along with a long list of things of what NOT to do at their destination. 

He had considered making this journey by himself, but had wavered. On one hand, he'd welcome the company; after all, Devils' Court was an uncomfortable place to be while on your own. And, of course, he'd become quite accustomed to having the brash and enthusiastic American by his side.

Still, to balance that, there was the explaining, the unavoidable doubts and scoffing to deal with. And there was the uneasy knowledge of the trouble his companion could seem to find without even trying. Devils' Court was a place where trouble could be lurking in every corner, down each and every pathway, even for the most cautious, and 'cautious' just wasn't part of Danny's normal behavior. 

And then, after the visit, if there had been no untoward happenings, Brett would be laughed at and teased for all his warnings. He DID so hate to be laughed at.

He thought back to all he'd heard about the place, though, and wondered if any Sinclair had ever visited Devil's Court WITHOUT there being untoward happenings. 

He realized he couldn't think of more than one or two of the family maybe every generation or two who seemed to feel an affection for the place, deciding to make it their home or even just to vacation there regularly. {"Well, not since about the early 1600's or so."}. 

Some of those who had settled there on a permanent basis had been born there, others born farther afield, but once those latter Sinclairs had stepped onto the property, into the house, they'd told the others of the family that it felt as if they'd truly come home, perhaps for the first time in their lives, and rarely left again. 

Of course, the others of the family called them quite mad, but the Devils' Court Sinclairs, as they had come to be known, hadn't seemed to mind, just shaking their heads with a kind of knowing amusement and went about their business. 

Sometimes the property sat vacant, except for the staff, for many years in between such occupants, however. Like now. Old Lionel Sinclair and his wife Hyacinth had lived there for most of their lives; had died within hours of each other perhaps twenty years, no, more like thirty years ago, actually. 

Brett had visited a time or two as a boy, but never felt comfortable, and his father, equally uncomfortable, had never extended the visit beyond what was necessary to be polite and get any required business taken care of. Had always heaved a deep sigh of relief as they left, as Brett recalled.

He felt a shiver of unease at the knowledge that he, a Sinclair, was now taking his partner to what was easily the most - well, what was the word he'd ended up with? Ah, yes - problematic. That was it. The most problematic of the Sinclair holdings. It would hardly suit to throw around words like 'haunted', or 'cursed', or 'downright spooky', or any of the others that immediately came to mind. Not at all.

For his part, Danny Wilde was ecstatic. He'd been wanting to see this place ever since he'd realized just how skittish Brett was on the subject, and what he'd read in Brett's property records had just piqued his curiosity even more. And that list of 'Do's and Don't's' - that had been intriguing as hell, not to mention slightly nuts. 

{"Yeah, so I might get a hankering for Scotch and not remember that's a no-no, for whatever reason. And, leaving our rooms after eleven at night? Well, I do have a tendency to wander around sometimes, so I guess I needed to know that about the oversized mutts that patrol inside and outside. Though I'm pretty sure I wouldn't stand and stare at that big portrait of the housekeeper they supposedly have hanging in the library for more than twenty minutes; I mean, I wouldn't stand and stare at the Mona Lisa THAT long! Unless this one's really something, and he didn't say she was. Well, except for claiming she'd step down from the picture and start talking to me if I did stand there too long. Yeah, like I'd ever buy that!!! But as for the rest! Not wading into the moat around the wishing well? Yeah, okay. Though, who the heck puts a twenty-foot moat around a wishing well in the first place?? That's just weird. And not following any dead friends or relatives into the orchard, even if they tap me on the shoulder and invite me real polite-like? I haven't seen any dead folks recently, and I can't think of any I'd pick up and follow into dinner, even! And really, I mean, am I LIKELY to walk counterclockwise around some big old oak tree three times? At midnight?? Naked??! Come on! Even if I knew what an oak tree looked like!!!"}

Oh, he listened, and found it all interesting, if highly suspicious in parts, but it was a good way to pass the time on the long drive up to Devils' Court. Still, every now and again Danny wished Brett would just level with him about things, like this place. Sometimes Brett just went way too far in teasing him, making stuff up about these old English customs and things! 

***  
1500's - Waelands

Justine Weylin, tall, shapely, with a handsome if not beautiful face that looked as if it had come straight off the statue of one of the more fierce pagan dieties, had been Housekeeper at Devils' Court, or as it was known then 'Waelands', for almost all of her adult life, and knew more of its secrets than any alive. 

Well, she'd been raised there, bespoken, if not actual, daughter to the seneschal and previous housekeeper, Oren and Brida Matthew, though for some reason they never gave the babe their own name, but left her with 'Weylin', the name pinned to her blanket when she'd been left with them. Justine had spent her childhood roaming the manor house and the lands. Eventually she was trained to be her mother's assistant, and after some years, took up the position as her own. 

Although a Housekeeper was traditionally called by her last name, with the honorific of 'Mistress' added to the front, by then SHE was just called 'Mistress Justine', the master of the place saying her name 'Weylin' was just too alike to the name of the place, 'Waelands'. 

"Gives people the wrong notion entirely," he'd say with his coarse loud laugh. "Start thinking you're someone important, other than just the housekeeper, you know!"

Justine had responded with a quiet respectful nod, "just so, of course. Mistress Justine is far more appropriate." If she had a knowing smile on her face when she'd left the room, there was no one in sight to see it and wonder.

She managed things with a kind if firm hand, certainly never cruel, seeing that a good life was held by all, not limited to the so-called owners, but not accepting of any undue slackness in those she supervised. Indeed, few tried such tricks, for she was well respected, even loved, though none mentioned the latter, especially to the Lord and Lady of the place of whom none could say the same thing. Obeyed, yes, (unless Justine quietly overruled their orders for some reason or other), but not loved, not respected.

It was an exceedingly well-run household, thanks to her management of the staff, and kitchen, and home farm and surrounding orchards and forest land, and much, much else. Many who saw Waelands, or saw what they sent to market, were in envy at the richness of the holding, far more than you would expect, since the surrounding lands and holdings produced not nearly so well. 

And, though you would have thought that envy would have drawn interlopers trying to take the land, somehow that never came to pass, and the Sinclair family rested there without opposition or threat. Lord Sinclair was firmly of the opinion that it was his reputation that accounted for that minor miracle, most erroneously, of course. It was Justine who managed that, though she never spoke of just HOW she did so. Somehow it was just known among those of the household.

Of course, she managed a few other things with a firm hand as well, though not so openly. When Geoffrey Sinclair had decided the downstairs parlor maid should warm his bed, and his wife, the Lady Helene, had seemed either oblivious or uncaring, Justine had not denied him his right to make his pick from the staff. She had just somehow managed to turn his eyes in HER direction, and once on her, they had never turned away, certainly not toward simple-minded fourteen year old Mary who ran the dustcloth over the wooden furniture in the parlor.

He'd not demanded affection, would have scoffed at the idea of love; she presented what he wanted and expected, a warm, clean, obedient female body other than his wife on the rare occasions he was in the mood for such. Luckily he was gone enough for those occasions to be exceedingly rare.

That he presented what SHE wanted, the opportunity for a child of Sinclair blood, was her sole motivation; otherwise she would have found means to avoid his dictates entirely. But she had plans, for the family, for this place, and she was playing a long game. Well, that was why she, as a wee babe, had been placed in this household in the first place, after all. Her people had seen the future, were playing a long game of their own.

The child she bore in secret while the Lord was away doing his year-duty to the King, down in London. That child, a boy, was loved by her, ignored and never claimed by him, and eventually grew to be a young man a great deal more handsome than most of the males of the Sinclair line, though bearing the stamp of their heritage openly on his face, with that hint of red in his hair coming from her line.

Oddly enough, Lord Sinclair never seemed to realize the child was hers, much less his; most times he seemed not even to see the boy. There were those who would have whispered of that, of how Justine managed that, but there were none there, including the Lady of the House, who thought that was an overly wise notion. Justine had never encouraged gossip, and it took only a calm, cautioning look from those all-knowing eyes to quickly dissuade any so inclined.

Later, when the child, Daniel, was perhaps four or five, Justine's cousin Derrick came to visit. Oh, he stayed not in the manor house, of course, but at the local inn, but he did spend time visiting with Justine in the kitchen and the small sitting room at the manor, as was permitted the housekeeper of a fine establishment. Since he was family and all. 

If he caught the eye of Lady Helene, well, nothing could have been more understandable, for he was very easy on the eyes of any female. Oddly enough, his description, the bare bones of it, would have been rather like that of Lord Geoffrey - sandy hair (but Derrick's with a slight auburn cast to it), blue eyes, originally fair skin that had ruddied with exposure to the sun. Of course Derrick was many years younger than Lord Geoffrey, his mouth not permanently set in a downward grimace but in an easy smile, his voice more suited to the singing of sweet songs and the speaking of pretty words that would please many a lady, his form strong and well-shaped.

There were those in the neighboring abodes who privately considered the young man had perhaps delayed his travels overlong in his pleasure in spending time with his cousin. In truth, he stayed just long enough to suit his purpose, Justine's purpose.

Lord Sinclair had come back heady in triumph, for he had been recognized in Court, by the royals themselves, and had been given a new title and new income. He was in such a good mood that he indulged in a glass of strong wine poured him by his attentive housekeeper, although Scottish whiskey or ale was more his usual tipple. 

His good mood carried over when he trod the stairs, enough his steps took him to his wife's bedchamber rather than his own, though, upon awakening in her bed the next morning, he couldn't imagine what on earth had inspired him to venture where he'd not been for several years. 

Well, there had been no need; his marriage to Helene, a distant cousin, had been a political one and she had never appealed to him, her and her prosing and her poetry and her faint air of discontent. He had done his duty enough to consumate the marriage, but thereafter had sought his pleasure elsewhere. He was concerned about himself, his comfort and prestige, and saw no need for dynasty building, which, other than the initial dowry and increased influence, was the only purpose he saw for obtaining a wife in the first place.

To his great surprise, and some apprehension, that one occasion after his return from London had proved fruitful, and in due course, Helene was delivered of a child. 

If there were those who would have thought him disappointed that the child was a girl, to be called Amabel, they would have been quite mistaken. He wanted no son who might decide to rise up against him, take what he held; well, that was the course HE had taken, and knew all too well the dangers therein. No, if there must be a child, and of course that WAS a sop to his virility, then better it was a girl. One who, with time, developed into a fair-skinned girl child with blue eyes and strawberry blond hair with the occasional auburn highlight. 

Daniel had been fascinated by the baby, and since his mother managed HER care as she managed most all else, he spent a great deal of time in her company. He was her protector from the beginning, and as she grew older, he became her friend and confidante. Perhaps, no, certainly, he eventually became much more.

Lady Helene was oblivious. Well, other than periodically checking to ascertain Amabel was being taught all the appropriate graces a girl of the Sinclair line should be taught. Helene had been halfway lost in her own world for a very long time now. In truth, if her family had not sought the connection, she would have been content enough never to have married, but that wasn't to be. Lord Sinclair had been too desirous of her marriage portion, and both he and her father too desirous of the Sinclair connection being strengthened. 

Now and for the past many years, she spent her time at sunrise prayers, noon prayers, evening prayers, midnight prayers, with intervals of reading and needlework interspersed. Except for those cherished hours with that handsome young stranger she had come across in the solar. She'd never quite understood who he was, but she would never forget him. And at least the memory of him had let her grit her teeth and abide when Geoffrey had paid her that unexpected visit. 

If she ever questioned the parentage of her daughter, she never betrayed that by so much as a glance or a word, and perhaps she truly did NOT question it. Children came from the marriage bed; that was what she'd always been taught. Geoffrey was her husband, he had entered her bed, she had subsequently born a child; it was perhaps as simple as that in her mind. 

Certainly Justine had never brought up the matter, never encouraged the lady to question matters. That would only complicate her plans.

Not that she blamed Lady Helene, not one little bit. After all, if anyone knew just how uninspiring Geoffrey Sinclair could be, it was certainly her. Still, a child had been required, a girl child, and one of Justine's family bloodlines as well. It had been no real task to accomplish. Lady Helene might be a bit standoffish and overly absorbed with her prayers, not one you might think susceptible to seduction, but Derrick always HAD had a way about him. That was why Justine had asked him to come visit, with just this outcome in mind. 

And, to ease her own conscience somewhat, she knew Derrick was kind as well as smooth-tongued; he would make sure to treat the lady gently, and leave her with sweet memories she surely would never have gotten from that oaf Geoffrey. Although she wasn't particularly FOND of the lady, still, Helene was under her care, as the rest of the place and the people and creatures were under her care. Justine had certain responsibilities, certain duties, and she took them quite seriously.

After all, her family, her people had inhabited this land long before Lord Geoffrey and his sort had ever set foot here. It was she, as a babe, who was delivered to the housekeeper, with the family knowing full well how much of a child-longing the woman and her husband held in their hearts. Delivered for just this purpose.

Now it was Justine Weylin who managed this house, these lands to make them fruitful. And eventually, it would be her blood who held this house, these lands, and it would be she who continued to manage the house, the lands to make them fruitful, for those who came after. She often would smile, in private, to think on that. No, it would not restore what had been taken, but in some small measure it would be recompense, and would provide a place of some shelter for the remnants of her people.

Justine was quite aware of the affection between the two young people, her Daniel and sweet Amabel and found it all slightly amusing as well as highly gratifying. Of course, she loved both of the youngsters, considered them her own. But still, the circumstances WERE rather precious, rather like something from a fanciful story told by a bard. After all, Daniel was by blood a 'Weylin' AND a Sinclair, though the latter not by name; Amabel was a Sinclair by name, and by blood from her mother, though the Weylin blood ran strong with her.

There were those in the village who would solemly tell you that Lady Helene Sinclair was a stern, but considerate, mistress. As was the master, Lord Geoffrey Sinclair, they'd hasten to say, stern but considerate. Well, anyway, at least he was stern. And Lady Helene might have stern and considerate when she wasn't on her knees in prayer or bent over a book reading improving works or poetry or something else that took her mind from where she was, or plying her needle, or simply gazing into the thin air. Of course, since she was almost always AT one of those activities, perhaps that description was more one of rote than of actuality. Discretion was all part and parcel of living in the vicinity of a powerful family, after all.

The young daughter, though, sixteen year old Miss Amabel? There you would find ready AND sincere agreement - Miss Amabel was a fine one, she was. She was an intelligent girl, kind and gentle, but with a touch of iron to her spirit as well, pretty and graceful along with the rest. There were those who wondered if her father's eye would fall on her, due to her comeliness, and had some concern for her, but they need not have worried. Somehow, just as Geoffrey's eye never wandered to any of the housemaids or village maidens, not after he'd taken Justine into his bed, it was as if he never truly saw his daughter as a female. Well, Justine made sure of that.

What he did see, though, what both her parents thought most important, was that she was beautiful, obedient, and a Sinclair. That made her very valuable as a counter in the marriage game. Families had their futures made or lost based on such available 'counters', and although Geoffrey Sinclair already HAD his place, and took ever effort to make sure that place was never lost, still, it never hurt to add a little extra protection.

When they decided Sir Randall Miles would make her a suitable husband, Amabel had taken the news with a meekness anyone who really knew her would have immediately suspected. Of course, her parents weren't numbered among those who knew her very well, so they just nodded with satisfaction. 

Well, THEY didn't see anything objectionable in Sir Randall. He owned the property next to theirs, Crosswinds, free and clear of entails, had considerable wealth and possessions even aside from Crosswinds, stayed away from politics so wasn't likely to end up in the Tower or banished or to suffer any of the other fates many were seemingly headed for. 

If he was of an uncertain disposition, hard-featured, and a goodly forty and more years older than Amabel, well, that was irrelevant. That Amabel would be his fourth bride, that too was considered irrelevant. The Sinclair family could always use a reliable connection, especially one with full coffers, and Sir Randall fit their requirements admirably.

The wedding was quick and simple, Sir Randall having more important things to do than cosset a new bride. In fact, it was so quick and simple that the man hardly remembered the ceremony, even less the consumation, though he was sure he had performed admirably, of course. Well, he must have, since the chit was proven to be with child not two months later. 

Only went to show that a man improved with age, since none of his other four wives had ever increased no matter how he'd laboured in their beds. He was boastful of his prowess, of his surety that the child would be a boy, an heir. 

Unfortunately he never lived to see that happen. Odd that that grey gelding of his, one he'd ridden for years, should have balked at that jump and Sir Randall ended up, alone, on the other side, with a broken neck. 

Odder still, it was on the following morning that Lady Amabel brought forth a daughter, one with blond hair with more than a touch of red running through it. A bit early, but most likely it was the shock of finding out she was a widow. Such a mixture of joy and sadness, all at once. Well, everyone said so!

It was a bit of a tangle; Sir Randall had several properties other than the one next to Waelands, but those were all entailed, would go to his nephew, the next male in the line. Poor Lady Amabel received only the unentailed property she'd entered as a new bride, Crosswinds, and with that, she and her daughter, Maeve, must be content.

Lord Sinclair wasn't displeased, particularly, though it was a disappointment that his foolish daughter had seen fit to have a girl instead of a male child who would have inherited ALL of Sir Randall's properties. 

Still, Crosswinds was worth quite a bit, and Mistress Justine had stepped in to provide sound management there, just as she did at Waelands. Why, she'd even found a seneschal to handle things directly, one called Daniel Steward. 

Well, the important thing was that the property be kept productive, and he was sure a goodly portion of the profits from that neighboring property would flow quite easily to his own coffers. Well, the chit WAS his daughter, after all! She owed him, didn't she, for seeing that she'd made such a profitable marriage??!

No one knows quite how it came about, that new uneasiness of the mind that settled over Lord Geoffrey Sinclair. He started fretting about things. Such as, just how much did his daughter understand about her duty? After all, she was a wealthy widow now; she might fall prey to any passing fortune hunter, someone who might not see fit to share the wealth of that land with his father-in-law! 

He thought and thought, searched his law books, drank his wine and his brandy, and somehow, in the midst of his dreams, he came up with a solution. So, on the morrow, he summoned his man of business and dictated his wishes. That those wishes were documented as being dated some three years prior was a matter of concern only to him and his confederate, him being assured the appropriate stamps would be affixed once back in London.

Now it was official. As of the (fraudulent) date on those papers, all legal and binding - Not having a son, and with his daughter still being unwed, any man who married his daughter must be willing to take the Sinclair name, and be legitimized (or the equivalent thereof), and would hereafter BE a Sinclair. That Sir Randall had never heeded that, well, that was regrettable, of course, though perhaps understandable considering his title, but a SECOND husband would most surely be bound by that agreement. 

Somehow that man of business had been very busy indeed, and there was even an agreement, signed by Sir Randall, that although rejecting the notion of a name change, DID indicate his willingness to abide, and to bind the property next to Waelands to his wife, but as being part and parcel of Waelands, no longer to be considered a separate property. Such an efficient and busy man of business, indeed! Assumedly he was well compensated for his efforts. 

Amabel made no protest, but in due course, baby daughter in her arms, presented the man she intended to be her new husband, Daniel Steward, currently serving as seneschal. Well, he and Justine had chosen the name of 'Steward', finding it an amusing play on words, and using 'Weylin' was just too, too obvious.

Her father had just as promptly had an apoplexy at the idea, choked, turned purple and expired in the library. It really was a pity; after all, the carpet had just been cleaned.

If her mother had noticed, either her husband's death or her daughter's second marriage, she never said anything, just continued her daily activities of praying, reading, needlework, daydreaming, and staring into the distance. 

The mouldering manor house that Sir Randall had never attempted to put in good repair was torn down, the newlyweds and their baby daughter moved into Waelands, and the now-combined properties continued to prosper far beyond any reasonable expectation.

And a new portrait was now displayed in the library, commissioned by the newlyweds and kept in a place of honor - a lifesized portrait of the Housekeeper of Waelands, in all her glory, keys of authority hanging from a chatelaine at her waist, confident look in her eyes, and a smile so knowing as to make you look behind you to see who might be standing there.

Justine grew old in the course of time, and one fall evening walked into the orchard, never to return; the following day her replacement, enough like her to be her granddaughter, aye, even Justine herself at the age of twenty-five, walked out of the orchard and took up the Housekeeper's chatelaine. There was not even the slightest of interruptions to the smooth operating of the establishment.

And so it went, the Housekeeper served, and when her tenure was over, she left and another appeared. Each housekeeper grew old, though taking longer about it than you might imagine, and the new took her place, and if there was not a hair's difference between old and new, except for the obvious one of age, well, none of the staff elected to question it. After all, there were a few oddities about them as well.

And those who came to look and consider taking what belonged to those who dwelt there, they left shivering, whispering of devils and demons and mystical beasts that guarded the family and the land. They started calling the place 'Devils Court', and the name stuck.

It came to be a family joke, and eventually it was suggested "we might as well rename the place, get the message out there that we aren't to be toyed with," and so it was. The request was granted and 'Devils' Court' now graced the tall metal gates at the end of the long drive, although 'Waelands' was still what was written on the hearts of those who lived within.

***  
They pulled through those huge metal gates and Brett pulled the car to a stop.

"Well, there it is. Devils' Court." 

It was an impressive sight, even more so considering the rich lands they'd been driving through for the past hour - all part of the property, according to Sinclair. Forested areas, fields of crops, meadows and fenced areas with horses and other livestock, orchards partitioned off by type of fruit being grown there.

Danny looked at the large, very solid looking establishment. Even after his tour in March and April, encompassing a goodly number of the Sinclair properties, even after seeing some of the properties occupied by Brett's varied and rather unusual family, this one - well, it had a certain air about it. Somehow you just knew the place would be there, continuing on about its business, long after you and everyone you knew were long gone.

Brett took an uneasy glance at the entrance, then at his companion. "Now, remember, Daniel, all I told you. I don't want to find you wandering into trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, Your Lordship. I'll remember. Don't get cozy with the painting, don't go wading in the moat, don't go traipsing around naked under any oak trees, just ignore the bats and toads in the soup. Oops, you didn't mention that, guess you forgot?" Danny teased.

There was something in Brett's face that Danny wasn't expecting, something like incipent panic.

"And for heaven's sake, do NOT go around saying things like that inside, Daniel! She would not like it, and that could make our stay highly . . . . Well, highly uncomfortable."

Danny thought it interesting that there was a thin sheen of sweat showing on Brett's forehead, and it wasn't even a particularly warm day.

"Oh, yeah, your housekeeper. Or as you put it, 'THE HOUSEKEEPER'. You're using the wrong voice, though. You need to sound more like that guy from 'The Twilight Zone', you know, Rod Serling or whatever his name is. You know, when he's announcing the show. Like this, 'And, at Devils' Court, there is THE HOUSEKEEPER'", and he imitated that voice so well that Brett felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

Danny laughed at the look on Brett's face. 

"Just what is there about her that has everyone so spooked? I mean, other than that you seem to think she's like six hundred years old or something."

"Daniel! DO NOT, I mean it! Devils' Court is not a place for frivolous nonsense, and I am quite sure Mistress Justine is not six hundred years old. It's just better to be polite, that's all. Were you never taught that in the Colonies?"

Danny snorted, waving his arm, "alright, so I'll be polite. Lead on, MacDuff!"

"Actually, it's 'lay on, MacDuff', and that might be very much to the point, Daniel!" Sinclair muttered as he started the car and they made their way to the shaded entrance.

They hadn't seen her until they were walking up the steps, but then she appeared out of the shadows. A tall woman of maybe fifty or so, not beautiful, more what you'd call handsome. Her eyes were clear and knowing, and with a quick flicker up and down, Danny had the feeling she'd seen everything there was to see about him, knew maybe more than even he knew himself. Yeah, so he could see how she'd have His Dukeship a little spooked.

Brett cleared his throat and nodded pleasantly. "Mistress Justine. We are here to give the place its going over; we'll try not to disrupt your routine." 

He ignored the odd look Danny was giving him. Well, yes, that was a lot more deferential than his usual announcement upon arriving at one of his establishments, but he was aiming for discretion, just as he had urged on his partner. He took another quick look at the regal woman standing there, giving him a slow, very thorough examination.

{"Bloody damned woman hasn't aged a year since I was here last and I was barely out of short pants then!"}

A slight smile came to her face and she nodded graciously. "Lord Sinclair, Mr. Wilde, we have been expecting you. Your quarters await you. I put you in the Adams suite and I believe it will prove satisfactory. If, once seeing it, you prefer other accommodations, please let me know. Ramey will take your bags."

A short but exceedingly wide man scurried to the car, started plucking out the cases with amazing ease. Somewhat to Sinclair's astonishment, Ramey didn't seem to feel he needed any help; just wrapped his very long arms around the assortment, dividing the load half-and-half to each side and loped into a side door, being held open by an extremely tall and very, very thin woman of indeterminate age. Another man, or from the size, perhaps a boy, slid behind the wheel and the car moved sedately off to a less conspicuous resting place.

Brett looked after it, then raised an inquiring brow. He really would like to know where that car was headed. Just in case they needed to leave quickly. Not that that would be necessary, of course, but just in case.

From the trembling of the housekeeper's well-shaped lips, she knew quite well what he was thinking.

"The car will be stored safely in the far end of the stables; there is a wide shed there we use for such purposes. Our own vehicle has been moved elsewhere for the time you and Mr. Wilde are here. Sionnach knows to leave the keys under the driver's seat, should you need them."

She turned and they followed after, giving each other a rather wary look.

"This way, please," as she led them up the wide stairs. "As I said, I've given you the Adams suite. It was named for the man who produced some of the first ironstone china, and indeed, the suite is decorated with many fine examples of that work. There are also books related to the family and the china. The Adams Rose tea set in the display case might be of particular interest." 

She'd offered that with a dignified nod, seemingly not noticing the shiver that pronouncement gave both men, the quick questioning glance exchanged.

"The sitting room is here, of course; the bedroom through these doors," as she swung open the large wooden oak doors where a massive bed, canopied in rose and green and creamy white, took the place of pride on a lush green carpet.

"I will leave you now; Rosenwyn will bring refreshments shortly. Dinner will be at seven, if that meets with your satisfaction." 

It really wasn't a question, of course, and neither man was foolish enough to take it for one.

Brett cleared his throat. "And Mr. Wilde's room?" 

A slight look of surprise, perhaps real, perhaps not, came to the housekeeper's face as she looked from one to the other of the men before returning her arch gaze to Brett. 

"And do you REQUIRE a second bedroom, Lord Sinclair? Was it a difficult journey, one that left you in a rather fractious disposition? Perhaps a good dose of salts would be helpful?"

Sinclair's eye's widened and he flushed heavily. Bad enough her mentioning the Adams Rose china, putting them in this particular suite, but realizing he and Danny would be sharing the same bed? Yes, it was just as bad as the family always said it was.

"Um, that won't be necessary. Either, actually," he replied stiffly.

Danny turned his head, wide grin covering his face, though that snort of amusement was easily heard by both of the others.

"That's okay, Mistress Justine. He does gets a little, uh, what was that word? 'Fractious', yes, on a long trip. Don't worry, once he has something to eat, something to drink, I'm sure he'll be fine. And no, I don't need another room. Don't know what I'd do with it anyhow," he exclaimed, blue eyes twinkling merrily. 

A slight inclination of that dramatic head, and a calm, "just so, sir. I'll leave you now to settle in. Your luggage is in the small room to the side, through that door. I assume you will wish to unpack for yourselves. If that is not the case, please let Rosenwyn know and she will arrange for assistance."

A slight lifting of one brow and the slight edge to her voice emphasized the warning that followed.

"I am sure you understand that your luggage is the ONLY unpacking the staff is prepared to assist with."

Once the door closed behind her, Danny turned to Brett. "So okay, Your Lordship, what did THAT mean?" and that snort of amusement returned as a highly uncomfortable Brett Sinclair explained that rather arch turn of phrase.

"So we're to keep our patty paws off the staff and not expect any 'services' other than what the housekeeper has assigned them. You know, kid, I think I like her. Polite, efficient, a sense of humor, and you know right where you stand with her. Yeah, we're going to get along just fine, her and me," he announced with a grin, dropping back to bounce on the high mattress of the huge bed, totally ignoring the long and pained groan that received from Sinclair.

***  
They had been at Devils' Court for a full week, and so far Brett was cautiously optimistic. Yes, there had been some incidents, but nothing too ominous. Actually, Mistress Justine had been quite welcoming, and though politely distant with HIM, had seemed to have taken a real liking to the American in his tow. Brett had even found them laughing together in the kitchen a time or two, his partner partaking of some special treat the housekeeper had dished up, both totally relaxed in each other's company.

While Brett wasn't sure he really liked that idea, still it had made him relax just a little, thinking Danny would perhaps avoid angering the woman if she was willing to accept his brash mannerisms and overfriendly ways.

Of course, he hadn't been particularly happy to keep finding Danny in the library, either standing with a brandy glass, staring at that damned portrait. Of course, staring was better than the times he found the American apparently holding a one-sided conversation with the woman looking down at him. Then there was the time he'd found Danny sitting in a big armchair he'd dragged directly in front of the portrait, pouring out his heart, so to speak, to a figure who somehow seemed oddly attentive and even sympathetic. Brett had the uncomfortable feeling he'd intruded just at the moment the woman would have reached down a hand and gently stroked those greying curls on his partner's head.

Brett had thought about having the library padlocked, but had the feeling it wouldn't do any good. The housekeeper probably wouldn't agree, Danny had a fine way with locks, and the damned door probably wouldn't stay locked even if everyone left it alone. He settled for just giving his partner another strict talking to, getting an apologetic reassurance he knew better than to place any reliance in.

The wishing well and its surrounding moat had proved alluring too, it would appear. 

"Daniel!" Brett had said with more than a little exasperation, having tracked him down one more time. "Do step back from the edge! Heaven knows what's in that water, and the edge is probably quite slippery!"

Danny slowly turned his head as if he'd just realized Brett was standing there.

"There's a trick to it, ya know? If you know just where to step, and you're real careful, you can make it all the way across without falling in. And when you get there - well, you know what a 'gragaf annen' is, Your Lordship?"

Brett shook his head rapidly, trying to shake the cobwebs that seemed to be enveloping his mind. "A Gwragedd Annwn? Well, vaguely, I suppose. Female water creatures, known for frollicking around without clothing, as I recall."

"Well, Justine says that's mostly right, though there's not just the females, but guys too, but with a different name. Says they don't mind you visiting, as long as you don't try anything cute. That could get you eaten, ya know. The moat's to keep anyone away who might think to catch one or do something stupid."

He looked at Brett, his blue eyes now wide and enthusiastic, a look Brett Sinclair knew all too well.

"Come on, kid! Let's go see! You can follow me; I got it figured out! Well, she kinda clued me in," he admitted a little sheepishly.

Brett raised skeptical brows. "Mistress Justine, the housekeeper, told you how to cross the moat? Told you you'd find Gwragedd Annwn at the center?"

"No, not . . . Uh, yeah, that's it. Mistress Justine told me all about it. Come on, it'll be a blast!"

Danny was halfway across the moat by then, stepping in some odd pattern that amazingly left him with only his bootsoles getting wet. It was with more than a little disappointment, and a lingering pout, that he returned to placate the slightly-panicked Sinclair.

"Sheesh! You come to a neat place like this and don't want to do ANYTHING fun! I don't know what I'm gonna do with you!"

It had taken the third brandy before Brett's nerves settled down, and some playful flirting and teasing by Danny before the Englishman put that whole uncomfortable episode out of his mind. Would he have offered odds on Danny refraining from making that journey across the moat at some other time, some time when the 'spoil-sport' was busy with other things? 

Hardly, but there really was little he could do about it except to approach Mistress Justine with his concerns. That wasn't particularly satisfying, though, since he only got a serene, "well, if the boy has discovered the secret, he'll not come to any harm. Not unless he tries some mischief with them, and I don't see him doing any such thing." No, not particularly satisfying, not at all.

Still, the next couple of days had passed without any nonsense from his partner, and Brett was beginning to think Danny had settled down.

Now though, awakening in the night, Brett realized Danny was no longer in the bed beside him, and felt the cold chill of apprehension that had been missing for the couple of days. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he hurried to pull on his clothes and conducted an increasingly frantic search. 

First the library, where he'd found his partner so many times over the past few days, seemingly in cozy conversation with that painting that seemed to dominate the room. No luck there, or in any of the other spots he'd listed as 'do NOT go here'; places he'd located the wandering Daniel before, since it would appear the blasted man was bound and determined to investigate each and every one of those forbidden places. 

There was only one place left, and giving a loud groan of frustration and anxiety, well mixed in proportion, Brett hurried out the door toward the towering oak just visible from the upper reaches of the house.

That groan was repeated when he came to the edge of the clearing. Yes, he should have known better. Give Danny Wilde a list of prohibitions, and you might as well just check them off in advance, though he didn't think that his partner had headed off into the orchard at the behest of any deceased acquaintances yet. 

Still, this was really beyond the limits of common sense! Oh, wait. This WAS Danny Wilde, so common sense wasn't really likely to be making an appearance anyway. But STILL!!!

Brett's voice came gently, if urgently, from Danny's right. 

"Daniel? Daniel. Come on, come here and put your clothes back on. Daniel?"

There was no response from the totally naked man standing there in the light of the quarter moon, his blue eyes fixed on the sight as if entranced. 

Well, perhaps he was. The moon had drawn him out into the night, to this place. Had seemed to be the source of the soft voice urging him to disrobe, to make those odd circles around the huge old oak tree. He'd started, but then got a quick feeling of sharp reprimand, and corrected his course. {"Counter-clockwise, Danny, NOT clockwise!"}

Three times around, and then he'd simply stood there, smiling with the knowledge that had flooded his mind and spirit. He'd never be able to explain all this to Brett, he was pretty sure of that, but still, HE knew, and he'd figure out how to make it all work. Well, him and the Housekeeper. Somehow he knew Justine would be all in for this.

***  
A Look Back To Some Six Weeks Earlier, Lord Sinclair's London Flat:

It had started, at least his and Brett's knowledge of it, not six weeks ago. They'd come to tea, Brett's cousin Kate and her friend Margot. A simple sharing of tea and cucumber sandwiches and little cakes. And a request, to share something else, something slightly more personal.

It was an interesting and eventful afternoon initially, though things settled down after Danny spit out his mouthful of tea. He would have been embarrassed, but figured that was not only better but less painful than Brett's reaction. Pouring that serving of tea into his lap instead of a cup just could NOT have been comfortable for the British lord. 

Still, by the time Danny had changed his shirt and Brett had changed trousers, the second pot of tea had been brewed, Kate and Margot had mopped up the visible damage, and they could all sit down and discuss the matter a little more calmly.

After the two women left, Brett got out the brandy and poured each of them a well-earned and much-needed glass.

"Kids, Your Lordship. You know, when Kate said they had a favor to ask, that just wasn't what I was expecting," Danny Wilde declared, still more than a little overwhelmed at the whole idea. 

"Yes, well, it wasn't at the top of my mind either, Daniel. I was expecting more to be asked if they could spend a week or two at Mandeville House while Kate worked on her new book and Margot finished those architectural designs." 

The whole idea was ludicrous, of course. Yet, throughout the evening, into the morning, their thoughts kept drifting back to the notion. 

Well, neither of them had any direct heirs, or heirs of any sort, actually, other than their general estates. Danny had his aunt, but she was well provided for, even if that thing with Brett's uncle didn't pan out. Brett had fully intended to make Danny his heir, at least to the properties and assets not entailed, when he got around to it, just as Danny had been intending to do for Brett; after all, they were both wealthy men. Still, they were not so far apart in age, and the work they were doing with the judge led them into danger, together, more often than not. So an heir OTHER than each other made sense. 

It was just that the thought of children wasn't something that had been on their agenda. After all, they'd gone their whole life trying to AVOID that complication.

Now, with the request from Kate and Margot, the whole idea was something they were going to have to take a good hard look at. Both women, life partners for some time now, wanted children, at least one each. They didn't want to go with an unknown source for the father, and didn't have anyone they liked or trusted enough elsewise. At least with Brett and Danny, they KNEW the guys, liked them enough to make it a possibility, trusted them to keep any bargains made.

"So, are they thinking all that newfangled stuff with the test tubes, or the old-fashioned way?" Danny mused.

"I don't know, I don't recall them saying, but I have to admit, I was so stunned, I might have missed that part. Well, Kate is my cousin, so if we went the traditional route it would have to be Margot for me. Perhaps with the other way as well - I'm not sure of the legal requirements and restrictions and ramifications there; the field is still so new, I believe the details are still being worked out."

"Yeah, there's that. They didn't mention marriage, either, did they? I'm pretty sure I woulda picked up on that," Danny having a built-in alarm button at that word.

"No, I'm sure they didn't. Although for inheritance purposes, it would probably be best. It needn't be long-term, of course, just long enough to validate legitimacy."

"They didn't say anything about inheritance; I didn't get the feeling they were thinking in that direction, kid, about the money and everything else, I mean. They're both successful, Kate with her books and Margot with her architecture business."

"No, I didn't get that impression either, but still it is something you and I need to consider. Of course, you and I can elect anyone we choose as our heirs. Well, at least you can, and I can for anything that's not connected to the family estates. Still, the family estates pass down through the legitimate male line, and after me there's rather a gap before you get to the outer branches of the family tree. And, even I must admit, some of those outer branches are rather, well, shaky, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I've met some of the apples on those branches, Your Lordship, and shaky's the word all right. Of course, if the kid's a girl, she couldn't inherit any more than Kate could."

"Well, no one could say we didn't give it the old school try, anyway."

"Hmmm."

"Yes, quite."

"Did they say how soon we needed to get back with an answer?"

"Well, they're hardly likely to start without us, Daniel, at least that was my impression. I rather think this is going to take several discussions, just what they have in mind, their expections, our level of involvement. After all, with the work we do with the judge, we have to consider their safety."

There was a long pause.

"Kids. I figured we'd stick together, you and me, but I never really thought of us having kids together, ya know? That's gotta be a first."

The Englishman pokered up, frowned at his partner making light of such a serious subject. "Why, Daniel. What a perfectly . . ." Brett stopped before finishing whatever he was going to say, before he gave a slow smile. "What a perfectly lovely idea."

"Yeah, it kinda is, isn't it?" Danny grinned at him, his blue eyes twinkling. "Who'd a thunk it?"

***  
So a week after that episode at the oak tree that Brett still hadn't stopped scolding Danny about, they left Devils' Court, headed back to London, Brett still giving him sideways glances. That last deep conversation he'd interrupted between his partner and Justine had him highly suspicious. Oh, he wasn't complaining that the two got along so well; still, surely that fact was enough to make any prudent man step cautiously.

Danny was hiding a smile, thinking of that now. HE knew, even if Brett didn't, that they'd be back at Devils' Court in record time. Still, it wouldn't do to let His Lordship know that, not yet. So, he added in a little sweet distraction. After all, Brett was SO easy to distract.

Danny now turned to the aristocrat behind the wheel. 

"I DID really like the place, but I was expecting something really scary to happen, from all you were saying. It kinda messes up my plans for Halloween, ya know? Don't you have someplace really spooky in all those houses and castles and lodges and all that you own, Your Lordship?"

And Brett looked into those enthusiastic eyes, knowing his partner all too well, and made a solemn vow to hide away the record book and journals and diaries for Ravens' Wing, at least til after the end of the year. AND quickly changed the conversation to his horse's chances at Ascot. He was quite pleased with himself when Danny didn't insist on bringing up the subject of Devils' Court, OR Halloween. {"Sometimes Danny is so easy to distract!"}

***  
Three years later, give or take:

"Do you think we should set up what they call a 'grandparents' flat'?" Danny had asked. "I mean, I know we're not 'grandparents' and all, but still . . ." 

Well, they weren't there all the time, and keeping quarters in the midst of all the daily activity set unreasonable expectations in hearts and minds that didn't really grasp why Brett and Danny were there one day and gone the next. Still, they wanted their own space, someplace they could drop back into easily upon their inevitable return, and maybe Danny had the right idea.

It worked well, the way it had fallen into place. Kate and Margot, partners still, partners always, were the parents-in-residence, with Justine filling the role of guardian and grandmother and oh so much else. Both women pursued their careers from that location, quite successfully. 

Brett and Danny still spent a considerable amount of time circling the globe, some in the pursuit of their varied business interests, some in their habitual pursuit of pleasure, and some in the pursuit of the Judge's little whims and fancies. 

Though that latter was happening less and less as time went by. The Judge was getting more pissy about their other committments, and their committment to each other, and a little more careless about the messes he was willing to drop them into the middle of, though he had never been overly cautious in that concern.

After that last job, the two had pretty much decided it was time to eliminate that third facet of their activities altogether, and messages from the Judge were being answered with either silence, or a polite but firm refusal. They bore no animosity toward the man, but those other committments weighed on their minds and their hearts, and they were not all that eager to put it all at risk. 

In fact, they were finding the 'pleasure' they used to seek just wasn't all that enthralling anymore, and they were finding more and more ways to manage their business dealings enresidence. Modern technology was just so freeing that way. 

They'd even started a joint venture, their memoirs, if you will, both before and after their initial meeting. According to Kate, their stories would probably be censored, even banned, if they ever got them in publishable format, at least from what she'd read of the draft so far, but still it was an interesting project.

Now Lord Brett Sinclair merely smiled in a very superior way at that suggestion of a 'grandparents flat'. 

"Daniel, Devils' Court has fourteen unoccupied bedrooms, in addition to six full suites currently gathering dust, and that's without opening up the north wing. I rather think we can find something to please us and still not be under everyone's feet. Perhaps a suite with the addition of a couple of the bedrooms nearby converted to offices."

Danny glanced up at little sandy-haired, blue eyed Danielle Sinclair, her chubby legs clutched around his neck. "I dunno, Your Lordship. I kinda like being under their feet, ya know?"

Lord Brett Sinclair had just hoisted Danielle's twin brother, Derrick, onto his shoulders. "Yes, well, I have to admit, I do too, but I think we should ask Kate and Margot their opinion before we get too comfortable."

"Yeah, after Kate finishes throwing up every morning. Right now, I think they're just happy we decided to stick around for awhile, with Margot being tied down with Amabel having the colic. And speaking of that, we'd better go check on JB, the little hooligan; it's about time for him to wake up from his nap. Justine was headed into town for market day, and you know that kid of mine has started figuring out how to get out of his crib all by himself. Just like his old man, always looking for an angle," Danny smiled with satisfaction.

Yes, young Justin Brett Wilde was a heck of a lot like his father, right down to those twinkling blue eyes. Neither man had the ability to say 'no' to the conniving toddler, any more than they did to the slightly older Sinclair twins. Probably no more than they would be to Amabel or any others that came along, and it did look like Kate and Margot were intending to satisfy Justine's hope - a house full of young Wildes and Sinclairs, or as the women expressed it, the 'Wild(e) Sinclairs' - every one of them - at least so far - displaying what the Housekeeper called, with deep satisfaction, 'the old blood'. 

Well, after all, Margot was of what Justine called 'the old blood' herself, as evidenced by the 'Derrick' that she'd insisted her firstborn son be named. 

"It's a family name; goes back ever so many generations, you know," she'd smilingly told the others, "all the way back to our ancestor Derrick Weylin back in the 1500's, I believe." 

Well, yeah, it was a little bit of a coincidence that Weylin was Justine's last name, but such things happened. If any had wondered at that knowing and ever so satisfied look on Justine's face, they put it down to it just being part of the Housekeeper's ways. They were becoming accustomed to those. In fact, wouldn't have it any other way.

Anyway, it wasn't something that needed discussing. Much more interesting to discuss the official documents that had just arrived, notifying them that the Crown had approved Lord Brett Sinclair's request to rename 'Devils' Court'. 

It wasn't the first time such a request had been made, and there was rarely any difficulty, although there had been some little confusion in the beginning, since it was almost unheard of for a name to revert to an older one. The clerks had thought he had made a mistake in his request, and there was various correspondence til it was resolved, and they were assured that, yes, he HAD wanted the name to now once again be 'Waelands'.

Well, it went so well with that small brass nameplate now affixed to that portrait in the library. 'Justine Weylin, Hereditary Mistress and Caretaker of Waelands'. No one took credit for that nameplate; it seemed just to have appeared overnight. 

It seemed so right, however, there was no talk about removing it. Even if those 'W's' gradually faded somewhat, with some of the decorative embossing becoming superimposed, so that eventually it was quite easy to be mistake that letter for an 'F' by any who got so close as to try and make it out.

So it stayed, as it was. And would continue to stay, for at least as long as any Sinclairs lived there, and no one would hazard a guess how long that would be. After all, the Sinclairs, (and the Wildes, and the Weylins) did not easily part with houses and land, especially those that spoke to their blood as this property did.


End file.
